Same Old Lang Syne
by DianaLecter
Summary: Clarice runs into an old friend on Christmas eve... December after the Hannibal movie


Same Old Lang Syne  
  
Snow fell harshly, refusing to grant her mercy this cold evening. With a vain grumble, Clarice Starling pushed her cart to the grocery story, ignoring the impulse to shiver visibly. She knew she looked like a horse bucking when she let herself go, and decided to spare the humiliation tonight.  
  
It was hard, though, and not only for the cold.  
  
As was facing tonight. Christmas Eve, and all she had to show for herself was a hopefully decent-made honey-baked ham and assorted side dishes. No customary exchange of gifts this year. However, that didn't matter. Though she and Ardelia Mapp were known to play Secret Santa in the past, it just wasn't fun without a third member.  
  
In this case, the others of her nonexistent place in the Bureau. Just a year ago, she was at the annual company party, pretending to have a good time, and surrounded by those who claimed to be friends. All things considered, she supposed she was lucky.  
  
How much had changed in a year. In six months. In a week.  
  
With her recent unemployment, it was probably better to avoid hefty spending, anyway. Though nerve-wracking, Starling enjoyed her newfound freedom, loving that she didn't need to immediately search for a replacement occupation. Her father always taught her a penny saved is a penny earned, and even through his death, she kept that with her.  
  
Inside the supermarket, she brushed the collected snowflakes off her relatively cheap winter coat and started the lonely journey up and down various isles. She didn't wish to stay here too long - just grab what was needed and leave. In little deviance to her quest to save money, Starling knew a bottle of Jack Daniels would make its way to her shopping list. Drinking during the holidays was dangerous, but she speculated she had to compensate for the lack of a ring on her finger some way or another.  
  
She didn't wish to be alone tonight, but knew it was inevitable. The temptation to phone Mapp and request her company was strong but not unavoidable. Her friend had a life of her own, as well as a family.  
  
Throughout their amity, Starling had never been envious of Mapp. Even when she was left in the lonely silence of their duplex as her roommate traipsed around the city with whatever boy toy currently held her interest. But now that she had settled down and was expecting, Starling was ashamed of her jealousy sparks, and pushed them out of mind with a sigh.  
  
Over the speakers, various seasonal tunes permeated the store. She could remember the glee she felt this night as a child, and even a few years ago, presented with warmth and care, even when her friends were numbered. Tonight, though, the feeling abandoned her, leaving only emptiness.  
  
'Have yourself a merry little Christmas. Let your heart be light. From now on our troubles will be out of sight.'  
  
Starling closed her eyes briefly as though pained, and took leave down a row of canned goods. They were anticipating a snowstorm in following days, and she knew it was best to stock up while here. The idea of making Macaroni and assorted versions of processed Ravioli every night for supper was unpleasant and bland, but her checkbook wouldn't allow more. Not when she didn't anticipate taking up a new job in the immediate future.  
  
The inner voice of reason that told her all would be made easier if she excluded the Jack Daniels was promptly ignored.  
  
'Here we are as in olden days. Happy golden days of your faithful friends who are dear to us, gather near to us once more.'  
  
Starling stopped abruptly, avoiding the temptation to drop her task completely. There were plenty of days for shopping. Tomorrow she could rely on those few scattered restaurants that would remain open, and McDonalds tonight.  
  
That thought alone persuaded her to continue.  
  
'Through the years we all will be together, if the Fates allow. Hang a shining star upon the highest bough.'  
  
Then, her façade fell. Nothing climactic or note-worthy, as most changes of mind occur without any need of forethought, rather incessant prompting. Starling rushed through the store at lightening speed. Though the song was nearly over, she knew one just as bad would follow. Even the classy 'Chestnuts Roasting On An Open Fire' was unwelcome tonight. Not for its content - more or less for the popular parody made a few years back.  
  
She didn't want to think of him tonight. It hurt too much.  
  
No longer shrouded in denial, Starling had long since forfeited her cold pretense. It was of little difference now. There was no Bureau for her to answer to, no impending job to execute. Why hide anything anymore?  
  
This, of course, wasn't to say she had changed her mind. No, Starling didn't know if she would ever reach *that* level. It had taken her ten years to even admit she felt something for this man. To actually act upon it? Now?  
  
Either way, Starling knew there was little she could do about it, even if she came to such a radical epiphany. There were methodical ways to grab his attention, she knew, but she would never resort them. That meant sacrificing pride and admitting she was wrong. Clarice Starling did not confess faults easily, especially when her heart was on the line.  
  
She didn't, and yet *he* was able to admit, however discreetly, what he felt for her. Did she fear coming clean simply for the risk of suffering the same blow he did with her cold answer?  
  
The unrelenting hurt in his eyes still affected her.  
  
Affected *her*. Imagine how he felt.  
  
She didn't want to. It was Christmas Eve, and though her seasonal attitude was far from cheery, she didn't need any boosters with reminders of the past, of her numerous faults and mistakes. What she desperately wished to change, but couldn't, as even though she was a civilian, that part of herself would always be dedicated to morality. To two-cent ethics and tedious incorruptibility.  
  
It was odd to know she could defeat such a man with her mouth. While others might seek advantage in such knowledge, Starling tried desperately to forget. She didn't want that kind of power - had no real use for it. To hurt him? He was gone now. Gone and undoubtedly very far away.  
  
She didn't blame him. Couldn't, really. Not now.  
  
Not ever.  
  
Forgetting the remainder of her shopping list, Starling hurried to the front of the store. Over the speakers, 'O Holy Night' sung to painful perfection. Though it was nothing to remind her of Dr. Lecter, in her state of vulnerability she feared suffering a sudden religious epiphany. The last thing she needed was to be consumed with guilt at her negligence of church attendance in the past few years. It was the most pious evening of the year to her, perhaps out of childhood instruction, perhaps not.  
  
The shopping cart was bare, half the list abandoned to her inner desire of returning home. Christmas was the most miserably lonely time of the year for people in her state of mind.  
  
In spite of her hurry, Starling was careful to be sure the promised bottle of Jack Daniels was in her grasp before she meandered to the checkout line.  
  
She watched as the teller rang up the total impatiently, noting with a humorless chuckle the food she had managed to gather before deciding to leave. Three boxes of Macaroni and a can of spaghettios. McDonalds it was, then. Tonight, she didn't think even her cooking could outdo the undoubtedly exquisite standards of the popular fast food handiness.  
  
Watching her purchases disappear into a single sack, Starling wondered ashamedly to herself how far in the parking lot she could get before tearing the alcohol from its plastic prison. Sensibility overruled her. Getting a DWI wasn't exactly a lifetime goal she was striving for. No, she was definitely smart enough not to get clumsy with her liquor.  
  
The cashier reported the total and Starling handed over her money, ignoring the voice in the back of her head that chanted it was no better than raising a dollar bill to her view before igniting it into flames. That's how everyone got poor. They put alcohol before the finer luxuries and more important necessities of life. It was easy to say it would never happen to her, for that's what everyone says before reality slaps them silly.  
  
Starling managed to brush passed the paperboy. She even managed to regroup her cart with the others, scolding herself for pushing it around without reason. However, before she could reach the door, she felt a tugging on her coat sleeve, and slowly turned around. She was too tired to be irritated at the interruption, and too immersed in thought to really consider who might find it imperative to speak to her seconds before her leave. Perhaps she had forgotten her change, or the lone can of pasta had escaped her bag and rolled down some abandoned isle.  
  
Though Starling was hardly prepared for what she saw.  
  
Was it possible to dream people into tangibility if you thought of them hard enough, long enough? Having dedicated the better part of her conscious mind to Dr. Lecter throughout her shopping adventure, seeing him before her was something out of the Twilight Zone. No one ever materialized from subconscious rambling, or even popped up after haunting someone's thoughts. At least not in her experience. But there he was, real and very much in the flesh, standing a gentlemanly two feet away.  
  
It wasn't until she felt something wet greet her shoe that Starling realized she had dropped her purchases in the thrill of the moment. Terrific. Not only a waste of money, but a display of sheer gaucheness. In front of him. In front of Dr. Hannibal Lecter.  
  
But she wasn't thinking about that.  
  
"Oh dear. I do apologize," Dr. Lecter amended, eyes immediately breaking from hers to study the surrounding liquor at her feet. "Didn't mean to startle you. Here.let me help." He took a courteous step backward, instinctively avoiding similar stains on his own fine footwear, and motioned for the paperboy to join them at the head of the store.  
  
Starling stood, herself and not herself, there and not there, watching as Dr. Lecter politely indicated to the troublesome area and explained, "I gave my friend a bit of a fright. Would you mind cleaning that up? Thank you." He even slipped the kid - no more than fourteen years old - a ten- dollar bill for his troubles.  
  
It wasn't until the floor was spotless and the soiled Macaroni boxes safely discarded in the trash dispenser that Dr. Lecter raised his eyes to hers again. "I didn't mean to startle you," he repeated immediately, and she read the truth in his eyes. By this time, her breathing had leveled, and she was finding her way back to reality. Yes, that was really him, standing before her. If she touched him, he wouldn't fade into nothingness.  
  
He might touch her back. She might let him.  
  
How did she even begin to speak to this man, after what had passed between them? Did she scream for assistance, for those she was no longer required to report to and watch as he was dragged away? Or did she hug him profusely, exhibit her intense relief, and refuse to let go?  
  
Neither option at the moment sounded too appealing, but Starling knew instantly she was more likely to opt for the second.  
  
"Umm." she heard herself say. It was a silence breaker, as she had absolutely no idea how to begin. "Thank.you, Dr. Lecter. I'm all right." Denying the shock she felt was more than futile. It was obvious, even by her voice, that she was quite shaken.  
  
"You sure?"  
  
"Yes."  
  
Though she could tell he was far from satisfied, and even further from believing her than she was herself, Dr. Lecter nodded and drew in a deep breath. His eyes not averting from hers, he allowed himself a small smile, drawing in a breath. "Jack Daniels, Clarice?" he identified, the stench sensitive even to her nostrils. "Are we drinking our problems away?"  
  
"Do you want an honest answer?"  
  
"I am appalled you feel the need to ask. Surely that was a requirement set in stone."  
  
Starling drew in a deep breath. "I'm not a binge drinker, Dr. Lecter. I never have been. You would know that, I think. But this year.this year especially."  
  
Frowning, Dr. Lecter stepped forward; close enough for her to feel his breath on her face. It made her knees tremble, and her body fought the impulse to simply fall into his arms.  
  
"Clarice, you worry me," he admitted, his voice indifferent, as though he were discussing the weather. "I never marked you as an alcoholic in the making. Do you find yourself in the wrong company, or is it something else?"  
  
Emitting a deep breath, Starling's gaze finally wavered from his and traveled downward until her eyes rested on his ungloved left hand. She flinched visibly at the scar that rested there and fought the temptation to touch it, to soothe, even if it was five months in their past. Any healing mechanisms she might conjure now were of little use to physical burdens.  
  
"I find myself reliving the past, whereas before I could look ahead," she confessed, eyes still fixated on the scar, unable to withdraw. Subtly, Dr. Lecter slid his sleeve over his wrist until material covered the irritated skin. With only a few seconds hesitance, Starling leveled her gaze with his once more. "You're here." she stated as though just realizing the irony. "Why? This place is hardly your.cup of tea."  
  
"I don't suppose you would believe I am in need of some good wine?"  
  
"If you were, you wouldn't be here."  
  
Dr. Lecter arched a sardonic eyebrow. "You sound so sure."  
  
"I am sure. Besides, you're not in line to make a purchase, and this place doesn't exactly ring classic-Lecter to me."  
  
At that, he let out an appreciative chortle, and she reveled in its authenticity. "Who's to say I'm not about to make a purchase? Is this not how people act, should they run into old friends in public?"  
  
"You're in Washington. Why?"  
  
Dr. Lecter coyly tilted his head to the left. "Why don't you answer my question first?"  
  
"Fine. I wouldn't know. I'm far from normal, and my friends are numbered enough that we're not usually in the same place at the same time coincidentally." Starling inwardly applauded her sense of dueling. It was this sort of verbal battle she missed. Someone with astuteness and the wit to keep up. Since her discharge, she hadn't spoken much, with friends or anyone but pizza delivery services.  
  
To get a conversation with intelligent life - and have that life be him, no less - was the bonus she had been waiting for.  
  
Chuckling slightly, Dr. Lecter allowed himself a nod. "Very well. I'll accept that. My turn, I suppose. I'm in Washington because it's quite lovely this time of year."  
  
Starling didn't hide her cynicism. Arching an eyebrow, she rested a balled fist on her hip. "You have my honesty. Is it so much to ask for yours?"  
  
The simple shrug of his shoulders was maddening, and she would have told him so had he not spoken. "I'm Washington because that's where you are," Dr. Lecter replied, kidding façade dropping from his face. The conversation turned serious that instant, if it was ever anything else. Their pessimistic playfulness often covered the big picture, or was a way to maneuver around it. "Because I wanted to deliver your birthday present in person, and because this is a dreadful season to spend by yourself. I speculated you might enjoy some company, even if it was mine." His last words made her wince, though he spoke them without vindication. "Am I too presumptuous?"  
  
Starling didn't allow time for consideration to pass. If she stopped to think, she risked hiding her relief, her ecstasy that he was here, that someone thought well enough to come to her, and that it was him. Not just anyone, but him. "No, Dr. Lecter."  
  
At that, his eyes sparked slightly. "So you're happy to see me?"  
  
"I."  
  
"Never mind. That might take some prompting." He stepped back slightly, and she surpassed the urge to follow him. The distance between them annoyed her, though she refused to allow the loss of that much of herself so quickly. "Hmm.seeing as I've so rudely interrupted your plans to acutely waste yourself, would you let me reimburse in buying you a drink?"  
  
Buy her a drink? That almost sounded like an offer on a real date. It left her feeling oddly warm, like there was something in their bizarre relationship that could be defined as within the boundaries of regularity.  
  
Detecting her enjoyment, Dr. Lecter allowed himself a discreet grin, but didn't comment. Instead, they waited in quietness as she considered.  
  
"Hmmm." she mused finally, companionable playfulness of her own seeping into her voice. "A drink, eh? Why, Dr. Lecter, have you finally summoned the courage to ask me out?"  
  
Amusement danced behind his eyes, and he recovered the step he took away from her quickly. "I suppose so. Does it sound too domestic to you, Clarice? We could always try for something more exciting. I thought it might be safer, however, to take things at one step at a time."  
  
Starling nodded, drawing in a deep breath, eyes locked with his. "Yeah, that's probably a good idea. So, a drink?"  
  
A note changed in his voice, though it maintained its tease. "Hmmm.I'm rethinking that now, Clarice, if you don't mind. I'm not exactly one for crowded, enclosed spaces." There was no need for elaboration; she read it clearly in his eyes. Even men who seemed at times to stretch beyond their limits suffered human frailties. Eight years in a cell had the tendency to make one appreciate wide, open areas. "Is that all right? I'd still like to compensate for your lost.evening. A drink, perhaps, but somewhere we can speak without competing with obnoxiously loud speakers to hear one another. Besides." He broke his dialogue with a sigh, though she wasn't sure if it was there as an afterthought, or because he wanted to emphasize the pause. "I very much doubt we want to associate the crowd that would mingle at a pub on Christmas Eve."  
  
"Agreed," she replied with a nod.  
  
"Your house, then?"  
  
At that, Starling cut a deep breath. No, that was too personal, too intimate, too soon for her. She didn't know if she was ready to be in the still quiet of her house with no roommate to intervene, lonely and vulnerable, with a semi-comfortable but very convenient bed in the waiting floors upstairs.  
  
"I don't think that's such a good idea," she said hesitantly after a minute. "At least not for my reputation. How about my car?"  
  
Dr. Lecter chuckled. "To forfeit an enclosed area for one even more constricted?"  
  
Starling grumbled at her lack of insight, but she was soothed the next instant with a reassuring laugh. "Don't fret, Clarice. It's perfect. I quite enjoy your car." Turning in the prompt direction of the door, he offered his arm and smiled at her. "Shall we?"  
  
For a minute, she stared at his offered arm, tempted with an unexpected batch of tears. It was the first time she would have accepted physical contact from this man without fighting, without trying to steal his liberty, without fearing the loss of herself. Starling didn't care if she lost now - she had long since stopped trying to win.  
  
Her hesitance wasn't in uncertainty or second thoughts, but in realization of her growth. The silence Dr. Lecter offered in quiet wait confirmed he understood, and she was glad. Very glad.  
  
Then the moment was over, and her arm entwined with his. Even through her coat, she could feel the expensive material of his jacket, and shuddered a bit. Dr. Lecter would never be without his wealth, and certainly not his taste. Why did he find her so fascinating? How was it that those tastes included her?  
  
There was an appreciative sigh from the man beside her at the breech to physical contact, and he led her to the door as the window for second thoughts closed promptly behind her.  
  
They walked in silence of a few minutes, enjoying each other's company without being burdened with the humanly need for dialogue. It was nice and simple. Starling didn't know anyone she be with and simultaneously lack the need of immediate discussion. Just knowing he was next to her was comfort enough for the moment.  
  
For the moment.  
  
The way their arms joined made her warm. His very tangible body beside her filled her more than her coat ever could. It took a great deal of self- restraint not to lean completely into his inviting self.  
  
When he stopped in front of an open wine shop, he turned to her, eyes friendly, and sharing the relieved quality of their proximity. Being close to him, unbidden, the one person to truly understand her and feel no loyalty or obligation to report him to those of higher authority was truly liberating.  
  
"Will you permit me to select the wine?" he asked softly.  
  
At that, she grinned. "Do you not trust my taste, Dr. Lecter?"  
  
"Lest I remind you, you confessed your original plans earlier. And really, Clarice.Jack Daniels?"  
  
Cracking a wider smile, Starling chuckled. The sounds warmed in her ears, authentic for the first time in weeks. "Yeah, me and ole Jacky have been needing to get reacquainted."  
  
Dr. Lecter's nose wrinkled. "You know, that's probably the only time I can say I wish you were referring to Jack Crawford. This isn't healthy."  
  
"I haven't concerned myself with what is and what isn't healthy in the past few weeks."  
  
"I see. Are you going to throw a tantrum if I insist on something lighter?"  
  
Sighing at the stubbornness that rivaled her own, Starling settled to shrug, giving her head a few good shakes. "Now, what's the point in that? You know already you can talk me into just about everything."  
  
While she thought that might provoke a cunning look, especially with such a blatant innuendo, she received little more than a grim smile. "Almost, Clarice," he said softly, turning to open the door for her. "Almost. Ladies first."  
  
The look on his face nearly made her cry but she refrained professionally. Clarice Starling was not a woman easily drawn to tears. Instead, she nodded and stepped in the opened door, noting immediately the lack of warmth it offered. She shivered inside her coat and took several instinctive steps away from him, not wanting any reminders of the past this evening.  
  
Why is it everyone seemed to hurt so much during the so-called 'most wonderful time of the year?'  
  
She had a simple solution that made her crack a brief smile. This wasn't the most wonderful time of the year. Andy Williams was a lying bastard.  
  
"Still determined for Jack Daniels?" Starling jumped slightly, not having heard him creep up behind her. In the midst of things, she had briefly forgotten she was in a wine shop with the intent on getting something they could share. At that, she considered, knowing everything would go to his tab whether or not she requested it otherwise, and the last thing she wanted was to draw too much from his wallet.  
  
Even if she knew it was foolish to be concerned with such things.  
  
"I'll get what you get," she said softly, not turning to face him.  
  
Dr. Lecter expelled a rumble of interest. "Afraid of being a financial burden, Clarice?"  
  
"I don't want to cost you too much."  
  
"Hmm." he mused, grasping her arm and coaxing her to meet his eyes. When she turned, she reflected the same indifferent gaze that nearly crushed her outside, and bit her lip hard to wan away the temptation of tears. "You've cost me plenty as it is, Clarice, but I would not be so insistent if it did not please me to spoil you. Please, get whatever you like."  
  
That nearly killed her. Starling looked to the ground, wondering if this was when it opened up and swallowed her away from this torture. In deviance to her inner screaming, but complying with the more believable reality, she remained firmly planted on a stable foundation. When he failed to register the pain he inflicted, she swallowed hard. "Dr. Lecter?"  
  
"Clarice?"  
  
"I know it might be a little late now.but. What's the statute of limitations on apologies?"  
  
Their eyes locked and held. For a minute, she could have sworn his breath skipped a beat. It was obvious she caught him off guard, and she reveled the instant of unavoidable self-congratulations that bought.  
  
However, Dr. Lecter didn't allow her the pleasure of prolonged bewilderment. "Hmm." he mused as though he had the answer all along. "That is an interesting question.I suppose it appears on the matter for which you're apologizing."  
  
Starling failed to lag, and again applauded herself. "Say, for being a complete bitch after your life has just been saved? For not realizing what you got till it's gone? Any of those applicable?"  
  
Dr. Lecter's eyes narrowed at her, though his pupils were dancing. It was clear he wanted words, direct and confrontational, from her. However, she refused to comply so quickly. After all, he had tortured her with subtle hints of their past ever since meeting at the grocery store. "I'd say.three years."  
  
"Three years?" she echoed.  
  
"Three years."  
  
"Any particular reason?"  
  
"The number is accurate, wouldn't you say? Long enough for the wound to still burn, and still reasonably sufficient not to have it forgotten."  
  
At that, she snickered. "But you never forget anything."  
  
"Ah, but we're not discussing me, are we, Clarice?"  
  
"You know better than that," she fired, suddenly defensive.  
  
When Dr. Lecter feigned ignorance, she didn't know whether to growl her frustration or chuckle at the predictability. Predictable to her.and only her. "I'm afraid I don't," he countered with an arched brow. "Why don't you tell me?" He stepped forward.  
  
Drawing in a breath, Starling found it within herself to speak in defiance once more. "Tell you what?"  
  
His eyes darkened with a faint streak of impatience. "Clarice," he said in warning.  
  
Finally, her gaze dropped from his, as though prodding him to hold her to eye contact. He didn't. Slightly disappointed, she decided it was time to raise the white flag. She only hoped he didn't take it the wrong way. Though her apology was needed, wanted, deserved, everything that seemingly came with it was far from being unearthed. "All right." she surrendered with a sigh, raising her gaze to meet with his again. Before words could escape, Starling heard him take another breath, and fought off the grin it provoked. "I'm sorry. I'm really, really sorry, Dr. Lecter."  
  
Something flickered in his pupils, and it appeared he was waging the inward war to grasp her and hug her profusely, preferably never to let go.  
  
Do it.do it.do it.  
  
He didn't. Instead, he collected himself and smiled coyly. "About what?"  
  
Argh. How typical. Well.if that's the way he wanted it.  
  
"For being a complete bitch after you saved my life? I thought we covered that already." The air around them emptied for a minute, all for the expected sounds of chitchat among other customers. Dr. Lecter did not reply, rather challenged her with his eyes. Though silent, the propinquity of their intense battle excited her. This was certainly the most fun she had had in months.  
  
"All right, then," she conceded finally. "I'm sorry for not understanding, for not seeing things for how they were. I'm sorry I turned in my letter. I'm sorry I was harsh to you before you killed Pazzi." The apologies flowed easily off her tongue, even those that didn't seem her fault. There were more discrepancies than not. "I'm sorry I was cold to you at the Verger Estate. I'm sorry I tried to bash you over the head with a snow shaker, and stab you with a dinner knife. I'm sorry I tried to trade things with you when it no longer mattered. I'm sorry about the candlestick thing. And the cuffs. I'm sorry you have a scar on your hand because I didn't give you a key. And." The burden of her release hung over her as her eyes traveled from his eyes to his lips, though she felt the passion of his stare burning into her. Never had she felt so released. For someone who was not accustomed to being wrong, she speculated she came terms with it very well. "I'm sorry I never thanked you for not leaving me to those pigs," she said, forcing her gaze back to his. "And I'm sorry for what I said to you in the kitchen. There.is that enough?"  
  
Again, there was no immediate reply. For a second, Starling felt everything was horribly in vain, and didn't shy from the flash of anger it provoked. After all, she had just poured her soul to him. The least he could gratify was an acceptance, or acknowledgement of her apology's validation. Nothing.  
  
Then she realized his silence was not due to his failure to accept her apology, it was in astonishment. Pure astonishment. Too much to hide and recover from with ease. A good-to-honest shock. By her.  
  
Though it didn't last dreadfully long, it seemed like years before she heard his voice in reply. It made no further attempt to hide his surprise. "Clarice." he whispered, eyes burrowing into hers.  
  
It was the closest thing to an acceptance that she would get.  
  
"Amarone or Chateau D'Yquem?"  
  
"Merlot?"  
  
"Far too ordinary," he excused. Starling regarded him with something of an awed frontage. From serious to casual in point two seconds, disregarding her words with such ease, though they both knew what was said would never be forgotten. "What do you think?"  
  
She was forgiven.  
  
"You decide," she offered. "I trust your taste more than mine."  
  
At that, he grinned. "Inferiority complex?"  
  
"We'll see about that. Let's get the wine and get out of here."  
  
"Words of wisdom."  
  
The purchase made, they walked into the foray of snow a few minutes later, leaving the place of her radical and seemingly random act of contrition behind. Their pace had changed slightly, a more relaxed, settled tempo.  
  
She was glad she made the apology. It was nice to get that off her chest.  
  
"Where's your car?" he asked a few minutes into their walk. She knew he already knew.  
  
"In the supermarket parking lot, where else?"  
  
"That's quite a walk, especially in this weather."  
  
"We got here, didn't we? I need to get back somehow."  
  
Dr. Lecter shot her a glance at that. "Do you? Do you really, now?"  
  
The gaze he issued was no different than any he had given her in the past all except for the forbidden hope that sparked in his mischievous pupils. Starling swallowed but didn't falter, their pace not subsiding, even with the reemergence into greater significance. "You know I have to," she replied softly.  
  
"Because you believe that, or because they want you to believe that?"  
  
"There is no 'they' anymore, Dr. Lecter."  
  
"Oh Clarice, there will always be a higher power for you to answer to. You must stop to consider every few seconds who you might be disappointing, who might see you with me, while you visibly do nothing to alert the authorities." Dr. Lecter sighed and tore his eyes from hers. "Even if it is no longer your responsibility. You're a United States citizen, and you know very well who I am. What I have done. What I am wanted for." As she started to form a reply, he turned swiftly to her, grasping her arm and making her yelp in surprise. "Do you want to, Clarice? Do you want them to come for me? All you need to do is scream. Scream as loud as humanly possible. Do you trust them to listen? To capture me with success this time around?"  
  
"Let me go!" Starling demanded, promptly ignoring his inquiry, twisting her arm that held steadfast in his grasp. "You're hurting me!"  
  
For the briefest minute, the grip tightened, but finally wavered and released. Likewise, the fire in his eyes doused, and he muttered his apology. "Let's continue," he suggested, barely audible.  
  
There was no room for disagreement, no time for dispute. As if she were still held at the arm, Starling found herself stumbling against him in a hurry to reach her car, as though under the roof she might some form of sanctuary. Of normality.  
  
Did she really want that?  
  
No.  
  
Her arm ached with soreness from his sudden brutality, though she made no attempt to caress it. The reminder was there and she refused to shun from its truth. This man was a killer, a strong, fierce killer.  
  
But he was much more than that, too.  
  
When they reached her car, the supermarket parking lot was virtually deserted. A few 'freaks on a leash,' as Mapp would say, lingered around the entrance, releasing puffs of heavy cigarette smoke. Starling frowned her distaste, overwhelming comforted by the man beside her. She hated this part of town at this time of night.  
  
Of course, she would have been home and passed out on the floor by now had Dr. Lecter not intervened. Either way, it was a win/win situation.  
  
Starling opened the driver's side door and slid in. Dr. Lecter waited patiently on the other side as she unlatched the lock and settled into the seat. The air in the car was uncomfortably cold, though she made no move to ignite the engine.  
  
"Where are we going?" she asked softly. Her voice seemed to disturb something, but she couldn't place it.  
  
"I have no destination. Should we just drive?"  
  
"Sounds good."  
  
He turned to her with a domed brow. "Gas prices?"  
  
"I can handle it."  
  
"I'll compensate you."  
  
"It's not necessary."  
  
The sudden roar of the engine sparking to life drown out whatever he was going to say, and Starling pulled away from the supermarket as she fiddled with the heater controls. Dr. Lecter tolerated her attempts to seem distracted, but continued just the same when she was satisfied.  
  
"I said I'll compensate you."  
  
Furiously, she shook her head. "It's not necessary, Dr. Lecter. You did buy the wine."  
  
"At least allow me to pay for the ruined products from your shopping extravaganza. That was my fault."  
  
"Let me take care of myself."  
  
"I am, Clarice. Taking care of yourself doesn't mean refusing help from the willing."  
  
Icily, she tossed a gaze in his direction. "I don't need any help from you. I've taken enough, remember?"  
  
There was a passive sigh as Dr. Lecter settled against the seat. The heater finally decided to cooperate, and they were simultaneously struck with an assault of warm air. Starling reached to readjust the power level, pulling the car into the snow-covered and nearly deserted streets of Washington.  
  
"It seems it's my turn to make amends," he decided finally. When she risked a glance in his direction, she found his eyes locked fiercely on his clasped hands, though she knew already it was not to avoid her gaze. He was lost in thought. "It was not my intention to uproot the past tonight, not like I did. I never wanted to be in the position to cause you additional pain, Clarice." When he stirred, she looked to him again, and nearly crumpled at the passiveness she reflected in his eyes. She had never known herself to read eyes so well, but the habit was pleasing, for she knew she was seeing because he let her. Because she knew well enough what to look for. "For that, my esteemed apologies."  
  
With a friendly, forgiving smile, Starling shared his look as long as she could before redirecting her gaze to the road, however empty it was. "You're learning what it's like to be human, Dr. Lecter," she said when she couldn't visibly register his reaction.  
  
"I've known too long, which is why I chose to avoid it." Dr. Lecter reached for their wine and held it steadily for a few minutes. Starling smiled when she heard the paper wrinkle in his grasp, though she didn't know why she found the sound endearing. Perhaps for its everydayness, for the implication that they should be here together, and the world would indeed not change.  
  
No one cared enough to look, anyway.  
  
"Do you want to pull over?" he asked conversationally, though the demand in his voice was easily depicted. "It's not wise to drink and drive."  
  
"Thank you, Captain Obvious," she barked in reply, provoking a reserved, amused look from him. Without needing further instruction, she pulled the car to the side of the street, careful to be mindful of 'No Parking' signs, though she doubted anyone would care tonight.  
  
"We don't have glasses," Dr. Lecter observed.  
  
"Don't you ever drink out of the bottle?"  
  
At that, he made a face. "How dreadfully crude."  
  
"Well, it's that or invisible cups. I assume you don't mind drinking after me."  
  
That motivated a grin. "What an ideal way to spread communicable disease. Nevertheless, I will take my chances. That is, unless, the idea of drinking after me is horribly appalling."  
  
"Horribly. But I'll live."  
  
"That's reassuring." Grinning, Dr. Lecter carefully uncorked the bottle, indulging himself in its scent with a sigh of appreciation. However, he declined the first drink, instead turning to offer it to her. "Have you tasted this before? It's most exquisite. Far superior to Jack Daniels, I believe you'll find."  
  
She shook her head. "You bought it. Go ahead."  
  
"I insist." When she neglected to accept the extended invitation, Dr. Lecter lowered his hand slightly, a frown creasing his brow. "Allow me the pleasure of watching you, at least, if you're adamant on being stubborn about everything."  
  
At that, she nodded and accepted the bottle, held it firmly for a minute before glancing back to him. Any indication to suggest it was her intention to drink was safely absent. They held each other whole with their eyes.  
  
"Why do you like watching me?" she asked finally, voice near inaudible, as though she were afraid of the issue. However, the question was there, in the open, and wanted its answer. "Honestly, Dr. Lecter, why do you give me all this attention, especially after what I did to you? What you probably think I will do to you? I'm sure you have." His gaze wasn't cold, but it succeeded in making her shiver. ".you have a variety of.companions who would-"  
  
"What makes you think I do?"  
  
"Well.when you're not tearing tongues out, you're charming and pleasant to be around." The look she received for that was mildly irritated at the reference, but more over all pleased and amused. "Certainly.after all I've done to make life generally unpleasant you'd wish to surround yourself with someone who appreciates-"  
  
But her speech was interrupted with the raise of a hand, and she met his stare with a fierce one of her own. He spoke softly, lowering his hand, sending shivers up her arms, despite the false protection of her jacket. Starling denied herself a headshake, knowing it was too late, both in their relationship and the evening, to refute the affect his voice had on her.  
  
"I could, perhaps, if it was my desire to do so. But I do enjoy the thrill of the hunt, Clarice. Your refusal of my offer simply made you more the golden cup that I found myself determined to acquire." He smiled kindly. "I suppose, in my old and senile age, that I truly believed you would change your mind. I could never be myself with anyone else; therefore the aspect of any relationship is dull and unattractive to me. Don't get me wrong, though.I don't mean to say I think you will accept me, or the life I've offered. The life I'm still offering."  
  
It took her a minute to locate her voice and even longer to swallow the lump in her throat. Still, she refused her eyes away. Such a sign of uncertainty was destined to break into something she was unprepared for. Besides, Starling knew it was her strength he admired. After everything those of her former employment forced her to endure, she maintained her wits.  
  
He was the first person to respect her for that.  
  
"You don't?" she croaked after a minute. "All right, then.why are you here?"  
  
"Because it's Christmas Eve, and despite my resolve to separate myself from any deity, a holy evening in many components. I knew you would be alone, and most likely in some sort of depression, even if you hadn't realized it." Cautiously, Dr. Lecter reached across the seat and offered the warmth of his touch to meet her face, despite the cold. Soft, tangible strokes caressed her cheek, and she didn't turn away. The urge was upon her to tackle him and let their closeness do some real good, but she ignored it.  
  
After a minute, not relinquishing his hold on her face, Dr. Lecter continued, "You're still with your courage, Clarice. I believe you need that reassurance from time to time. Never doubt yourself, no matter how gray the scenery might seem." The caresses alternated to her chin, his thumb moving of her lips. He smiled at her. "This is the first time I've touched you in consciousness without you shunning from me."  
  
Starling didn't want to speak for risk of his hand moving away, didn't want to nod to imply she wanted him to reclaim his intrusive appendage. Instead, she hummed her reply, barely moving.  
  
"Why?" he inevitably asked.  
  
That was a favorite question of his, and while she debated scorning at the redundancy, she found it was permission speak. When she parted her lips, the touch failed to withdraw, rather inviting itself for further exploration. For an inquiry so simple, it had too many levels of plausible answers.  
  
"Because." Starling started to say, pushing away simple modesty when he smiled at the vibrations against his fingers. "I have changed."  
  
A breath emitted from Dr. Lecter that could have been mistaken for a coo of pleasure, but she decided to disregard it. "Have you?" he asked simply, voice unaffected.  
  
"Yes."  
  
"How so?"  
  
That caused her to pause. She wanted to purse her lips together, but such would capture his finger in her mouth, and she wasn't ready for such a blatant innuendo. "I don't know. I just have. That should be obvious, right? I mean.we're sitting here.and it's obvious I'm going to do nothing to inform the police."  
  
He perked an interested eyebrow. "Aren't you?"  
  
"No."  
  
"Surrendering, Former Agent Starling?"  
  
"It depends." Finally, he withdrew his hand, and she bit back a sound of complaint. The places he touched her ignited, warming her with a thousand times the impact of her flimsy sheathing. "What do you mean by surrendering?"  
  
The tension seemed to escalate to its peak in the next few seconds, but likewise declined with the absence of a climax. Dr. Lecter finally broke their gaze and settled comfortably against the seat. "We'll see," he replied softly. "Why don't you taste the wine, Clarice?"  
  
In the midst of things, Starling had nearly forgotten she held it. Surprised, she blinked down at the waiting bottle in her hands. Nodding her acceptance, she decided playing this reverse game of tug-of-war would only get so much accomplished. Slowly, she raised the bottle to her lips and took a small, modest sip.  
  
The sheer pleasure of the taste surprised her, caught her off guard. Starling tore her lips away from it for a minute, studying Dr. Lecter's victorious eyes fleetingly and permitted herself another drink. Refusing to allow her approval strike her vocals, she finally withdrew, inhaled deeply, then extended her arm in offering.  
  
"Verdict?" he questioned, accepting the bottle only after a second's hesitation.  
  
"Delicious. I should know to trust your judgment."  
  
"Superior to Jack Daniels, then?"  
  
"Very."  
  
Dr. Lecter's mouth tugged in a grin before he turned his attention to the bottle in his hands. Methodically, he raised it to his lips; studying the rim her mouth had enclosed just seconds before. With precision, his tongue peaked out, and he drew her remnants into his mouth. Unlike her, he didn't deny either of them his croon of pleasure. The sound made her flush hot.  
  
Finally, he withdrew his attention from the rim and drank in the flavor, modestly, with knowing restraint. Once satisfied, he extracted the bottle from his reach and settled it comfortably between them.  
  
Starling, slightly breathless, turned awkwardly in her seat so that her back was pressed against the door. "Still remorseful about the lack of glasses, Dr. Lecter?" she asked, only partially teasing.  
  
"Hmmm." he mused in reply. "I admit: this crudeness has a certain charm to it." When he looked at her, his eyes were sparkling. "On that note, would you like some more?"  
  
Starling didn't look away as she reached for the bottle, arching an eyebrow in mild amusement. "Quoting Oliver Twist, now?"  
  
"Oh, bravo, Clarice. You're more cultured than you care to admit."  
  
Their eyes danced together as she raised the bottle to her lips once more, indulging in a slow drink. She pulled away when her eagerness shot forward of reality, and wine dribbled down her chin.  
  
"Dammit. Just when I had you thinking I'm cultured," she muttered, barely aware of the tease in her voice, leaning forward to place the bottle down and reach for the stash of tissues that she always kept handy in a nook of her driver's side door.  
  
A hand stopped her.  
  
"Please. Allow me."  
  
Before she could reveal surprise or question, or react in any way, Dr. Lecter had leaned forward, taking grasp of her head with both hands, though not forcefully. Starling felt her breath quiver in her throat, though she dared not move away, not for anything.  
  
Like the rest of him, the tip of his tongue was warm, relaxing, and she couldn't help the moan that escaped her as he licked the mess she made up, taking his time. An inner voice screamed at her to wiggle free, to yelp and twist and hit him for invading this space, for discovering this part of herself that was as welcoming as he was. Starling trembled, her hands reaching for his shoulders, and rested when she found she had no desire to push him away. The voice died that instant without battle, and he murmured against her throat in lavish agreement.  
  
His hands left her face with the knowledge that she would not struggle, traveling to rest warmly on her hips, pulling her closer to him. Then she was under him, stretched across the seats, and his mouth found hers.  
  
Starling clutched tightly to his shoulders, overwhelmed with the power of his kiss, but not nearly as much as her surprise of her return. Hunger coursed through her, and her response caused them to moan together. The feel of his lips against hers promptly drained her of all strength, all will, anything that allowed her to do anything but kiss him back. When his tongue invaded her mouth, she swallowed another whimper, the need to remain hardheaded with her, though without reason.  
  
Trapped here under him, it didn't occur to her to worry about what his mouth had done to others, what it was capable of doing to her. Even when his teeth nipped at her, she failed to find it disconcerting.  
  
With a ragged breath, Dr. Lecter tore his mouth from hers, not without a noise of complaint that she released against her will. His right hand found her face again, caressing her softly as she lay there immobile, eyes capturing his. They shared a long look before he lowered his head again, nuzzling this time in her neck, tongue darting out to taste her with some hesitance.  
  
"Clarice." he whispered into her skin. There was astonishment in his voice, and she reveled in its sound.  
  
When she didn't reply, he sat up and helped her back to her seat. He didn't make eye contact, but she saw impatience and desire flashing in his pupils. She was surprised at his restraint, but only minimally. While she knew he wanted to take her, it was much too crude to consummate anything in a car, especially with the weather as it was. Starling didn't shy from the hunger in his eyes, though in this time of personal reflection, she allowed herself to wonder exactly what she was doing here, and where it was she wanted to go.  
  
Her breath returned to a pacified speed, her eyes not leaving him. However, Dr. Lecter was staring ahead, his gaze fixated on something she couldn't see. Finally, his glance rolled in her direction, and she marveled at the passive indifference.  
  
They simply looked at each other for long minutes. When he spoke again, his voice was level and remarkably unchanged. "I'm afraid I've made a larger mess," he said, indicating the wine they spilled over in the sweet minutes of before. Their eyes locked once more. "Some air, Clarice?"  
  
She nodded, moving to open her door. "Good idea."  
  
The air was colder than she remembered, the warmth where his body had all too briefly covered hers now making her skin burn. They left the car, moving companionably up the abandoned sidewalk. Starling took the time to note they were near Ford's Theatre, her eyes catching sight of the Peterson House ahead, both closed to tours for the holidays.  
  
She wondered how late it was.  
  
When she spoke, her voice was hoarse once more, whether from the cold or the recent transpire of events, she didn't know. Simultaneously, they stopped walking to study the other, respectfully near her car, but far enough away to pull its use out of the intuitive.  
  
"What happens now?" she asked.  
  
Dr. Lecter let out a breath, staring passed her for a minute before gazing back with answer. "I don't rightfully know," he admitted. "Life is so unpredictable, wouldn't you agree? I suppose you could turn and walk away from me, return to your world and pretend safely none of this has happened. Perhaps awake tomorrow with the mindset it was an ephemeral dream and go on with life. Or."  
  
Starling swallowed hard, her body quivering once again, involuntarily. "Or?"  
  
"I believe you know without direction, Clarice."  
  
"You wanted words from me earlier. What makes you think I don't want words from you now?"  
  
At that, he smiled grimly, whether at her demand or the reference, she didn't know. While her gaze didn't falter from his, he reached anyway to grasp her chin and hold her astutely in place. Dr. Lecter's skin had chilled slightly with snow, but she didn't flinch.  
  
"You're very courageous, you know," he complimented shortly.  
  
"Because I'm demanding something from you?"  
  
"That and more. Your valor is not in existence for my influence, so I won't take credit for it. You're due your answer, Clarice, and I will not disappoint." Drawing in a breath, Dr. Lecter released her and he settled to himself. "Forgive me.I can't seem to remember a gentleman always keeps his hands to himself. You have the power to disarm me of my inner courtesies."  
  
Sardonically, Starling curved a brow, though the thought succeeded in exciting her. "That's hardly by intention."  
  
"Isn't it? How disheartening." Dr. Lecter tolerated her narrowed eyes with a chuckle. "But I suppose that's beside the point. Your other option, Clarice, is of course, to accompany me to my humble abode. We could start anew jointly, discard former unpleasantries, enjoy laughing at those who give us mutual distaste. Learn and live together. Give ourselves that denied chance, that unspoken option that has always been there, but never referred to for fear of societal discrimination."  
  
Though it was nothing she hadn't expected, Starling still found herself short of breath. The intensity of his eyes was nearly too much to endure, but she met him with a hard gaze of her own. However, staring him down was not easy when her entire being quivered and tears threatened to strike. For a minute, she tasted the choices ahead. Return to her car and drive away, as he said, and pretend she never ran into him this night. It was the safe, easy way out.  
  
But she would always know.  
  
When she spoke, her voice had cleared, but the power drained from her tone, and she sounded more submissive than she intended to. "Why?"  
  
"I think that should be obvious," he commented narrowly.  
  
"Tell me? Please?"  
  
"Very well. Will you tell me yours, in reply?"  
  
"Tell you what?"  
  
"You'll see." Dr. Lecter reached for her hand and held it, running his thumb over her knuckles softly. For a few seconds, his eyes remained where their bodies joined, finally traveling upward. "I've told you this before, you know. Not in so many words, of course, and I don't think you believed me."  
  
Her breath caught in her throat. Immediately, she understood his reference, and it made her pulse race.  
  
"Believe me, now." Slowly, he raised her hand to his mouth and pressed his lips against it, gaze still locked on her. "I love you, Clarice. With whatever your so-called bureaucrats and professionals might say about me, of my capabilities to such a human emotion, know what I am competent of possessing is dedicated to you. I have no reason of knowing how or why, but similarly, I cannot shy from it, nor is it my intention to do so. It has cost me much, yes, but you know what they say." He smiled softly. "What doesn't kill you, only makes you stronger."  
  
Emotion swelled within her, and Starling felt tears sting her eyes. Selfishly, she sniffed and forced them away, ignoring the plight of a thousand voices screaming through her head. Her eyes averted to their clasped hands, and she savored the warmth their skin seemed to produce in league. Moisture tackled her eyes again, touched with the night air and relentless snow.  
  
"How do you expect me to respond to this?" she questioned at last, gaze traveling back to his. Like him, she held nothing back, and knew whatever was in her eyes could not be subject or scorned. He had his answer before needing to inquire.  
  
"How about you love me in return?"  
  
"All right."  
  
Dr. Lecter's eyes widened briefly, but she had little time to savor it. Instead, she found her lips smothered with his once more, the warmth of his mouth drawing her, welcoming her. For the briefest seconds, there was no outside world, no Bureau, no Ten Most Wanted List, nothing that would ever suggest their kindred souls should be anything but together. Now they were simply two people who wanted each other, wanted for all the right reasons. They clasped together tightly, there in the falling snow, too involved in the other to consider the cold, or anything that required any strenuous forethought.  
  
But Starling knew it couldn't last. Regardless of who she was, what she knew and who she loved, there was always that decisive factor of who *he* was, and what she stood for. No matter how it tried to hide, how it begged to be overlooked, it was there. The promise of her morals, the strain of ethics, and the knowledge of her incorruptibility. All painfully close to the line, beckoning to be shoved over the side.  
  
She knew she couldn't help whom she loved, but she could help what she did about it. There were certain things that could never be. But she didn't want to think of that, now. Now she was lost in his mouth, in the pledge of security he offered, in the hope of the future before them.  
  
Lies. All lies.  
  
Dr. Lecter pulled away reluctantly, nudging her brow with his.  
  
Clutching him with incisive tightness, Starling closed her eyes in lasting pain. The tears she could no longer help skated down her face, unbridled. With a conclusive whimper, she buried her face in his shoulder.  
  
Ugly knowledge. They both knew what was to come, what ultimately had to.  
  
Raising her head, Starling rested her chin against him with a sigh. "Doctor-"  
  
"Doctor? How long have you known me, Clarice?" His voice was low and teasing, but there was something else there. Something he recognized they couldn't avoid.  
  
Starling sighed. "Ten plus years."  
  
"Then I'd say you're tad obsessive with formalities."  
  
"I." Trembling, she pulled away, painfully gazing in his perceptive eyes, reflecting he knew already what was to come, yet allowed her still the freedom to speak. "I don't think I can." Something muffled escaped her, and she fought off a harsh sob. "I do love you.please believe me.but I can't do this."  
  
Something relative to pain shot behind Dr. Lecter's unmoving stare. She forced herself to ignore it. "Clarice-"  
  
"It wasn't the Bureau that made me," she continued. If he stopped to talk reason into her, there was no hope. Her mouth ached to be reunited with his once more, but she schooled herself to restraint. "I made me. I am who I am, with or without the badge to prove it. I can't forget that. I can't let myself forget that. I can't let you let me forget it. I can't-"  
  
"For what, Clarice? Do you fear losing yourself simply because you love me? If so, then you've already lost. Your admittance proves that much."  
  
That was it, the last and final straw, all she could endure. With a docile whimper, Starling burst into relentless tears. Not because of the tone or quality, rather for the truth.  
  
If this was so, what was left for her?  
  
A sigh escaped Dr. Lecter, but she couldn't bring herself to look at him. When he continued speaking, her eyes remained fixated on the ground, as though willing it to swallow her. "However." he continued softly a minute later, "you have not lost yourself, nor have you forgotten. It's said we can't help whom we love, and I believe both you and I stand here as living proof."  
  
That persuaded her to look up, and she reflected the odd sincerity in his gaze. In that moment, she realized that whatever he said or didn't say would always be interpreted through his pupils. There were some things he would never let her know, and other things he left for her to decipher for her own conclusions that were rarely unlike his.  
  
Just as she felt trapped for loving him, he was forever condemned for loving her. Because of who they were, neither of them would ever grasp that which they wanted. No, they would stand there and reach, and reach and reach but never find. Did she really think an FBI agent was whom he set out to woo? Did she really think any of this was any easier on him than it was she? Not really.but it hadn't hit her until now. This was the way things were, and neither of them could do anything to amend it.  
  
Yet, that did little to alter her decision, her will, such as it was. Starling felt something sharp pierce her heart as she shook her head. "But that doesn't really change anything, does it?" she ventured, voice not nearly as small as she felt.  
  
There was a sigh. "I suppose not."  
  
"Right. Then I think we should say goodnight, now."  
  
For a minute, Dr. Lecter did nothing. Something other than his eyes burned through her, and while the temptation was strong to look away, Starling forced herself to remain equally in control. Tears dried and crusted on her face, making a haven for fresh flakes of snow.  
  
Then slowly, he reached into his coat pocket and withdrew a small package. He stilled for a minute as though trying to decide before finally handed it to her. "Happy birthday," he said shortly, nothing of bitterness or respite in his voice, rather the same indifference that seemed to affect her more than any mask of emotion could. "Good night, Clarice."  
  
Starling coiled the package firmly in her grasp without looking at it. "Good night, Dr. Lecter."  
  
And before she could lock gazes again, Starling forced herself away, walking in the other direction toward her vehicle. It occurred to her that she should offer to drive him back to the supermarket, or wherever it was he needed to go, but the thought of facing him was too much, and she selfishly refused to turn back.  
  
Something wet touched her cheek, and she realized the snow had turned into rain.  
  
Starling let out an appreciative breath once she managed inside her car. Next to her sat the half spilt bottle of Chateau D'Yquem. She tried hard not to look at it. Instead, she brought the package into view. Slowly, in mind of the man she had left on the sidewalk, she slid the paper free, hesitated, and finally uncapped the top.  
  
A piece of paper was her immediate greeting. Beneath it waited the most breathtaking emerald she had ever laid her eyes on, cast into a ring.  
  
Breath quivering, Starling slowly unfolded the paper, small enough to fit into this box, but still large enough to have some sense made of it. She flipped the inner light switch on, and bit her lip as she read.  
  
Clarice,  
  
Of our shared stars, I've managed to capture this one for you. Like you, it holds deceptive beauty that tends to attract the unwanted attention of others. Also like you, it isn't easy to obtain, or to hold steadily once captured in sweet surrender. I can't help but wonder what you might see. You look at the world through rose-colored glasses. I only wish it would return the favor. You'll always remain between the iron and the silver. I think that's most appropriate. Happy birthday.  
  
- H -  
  
Starling blinked to bat her tears away, but it did little good. A familiar, overwhelmingly striking pain engulfed her entire being. With a sob, she collapsed on her steering wheel and let it out. Long, harsh curses to humanity, life, why things were the way they were, and so much more. She cried for things she thought were old scars, things that hadn't yet occurred, and mostly for this. For this insensitive, cold reality.  
  
But she couldn't dwell. Securing the ring on her finger, where she would wear it until she died, Starling ignited the engine. She steered the car from the curb and down the street, trusting her senses to lead her home, as her mind was somewhere else.  
  
One last time, her eyes averted the rearview mirror, and she caught a glance of the love of her life, standing in submissiveness against the night. Alone on the streets of Washington, watching her every move. There her drying eyes lingered until he was swallowed with darkness, and clouded with the onslaught of rain.  
  
  
  
FIN 


End file.
